The egg cracks, and a forked tongue flicks into the night air. Fragments of the shell, thick and dark, fall into the moldy soil below. A tiny serpent, grotesque and deformed, oozes out of the broken mess, one long and writhing body, two heads.
In a room high above the nest, a woman sleeps. The castle walls are too smooth for the serpent’s slick belly, but the vining ivy proves a perfect pathway to her window. The double-headed snake slithers its way along the vines and over the window sill, down the heavy curtain, across the floor, and up into the bed beneath the coverlet at her feet. It pauses a moment, basking in the warmth of legs covered in filmy white silk.
The brains of the tiny snake, vague and primitive, see thoughts in images, and something like firelight plays through its consciousness. The tongues flicker, and it continues on, following the warmth of her body, leaving the covering of her sheets, and, finding her head covered in shining curls, it slithers into her ear. She stirs, but sleep is sweet.
It more thinks the lies than speaks them, and the woman hears its thoughts louder than her own dreams. And, so deep it goes, hiding itself inside her head, that she believes its thoughts are her own.
Each head sends a different message, one of fear and one of pride, and it feasts on the confusion it breeds. The woman holds her head in her hands and cries tears of indecision.
Her soul opens to Deception. The little beast settles in, and without waking, she gives it a home.
Every good story needs a terrible villain. Lady the Fearless? She battles lies. Fear and pride. Dream stealers. They come in when we believe deceptions about who we are, when we dozily accept any thought that wanders through our minds. Too bad the sleeping maiden left that window wide open. Too bad she doesn’t put up much of a fight.
If she would jerk herself awake and slap that little two-headed snake, it would fly across the room and crack its tiny skulls. And the maiden? She would find herself that much closer to Lady the Fearless.
So many things in this story could be different. What if someone were on snake patrol, getting the eggs before they could ever hatch? What if the castle had a more conscientious gardener?
The window could be guarded. There could be snake traps in the bedroom. The little maiden could jump up, throwing back the blankets, kicking like a ninja! She could protect her ears before she slept, some barrier the lying creature could never breach.
What lies do you need to slap, right across the room today? What barriers could you put in place against lies? What fears are trying to take you down, infiltrate your thinking, and steal your dreams with thoughts of failure and risk? What prideful nonsense is invading?
Every healthy person I know deals with lies and fear and pride; it’s an ongoing matter of what we accept and how proactive we are, how often we go on snake patrol, take inventory. How sleepy are we when lies try to creep in? Because they are sneaky, and we do love our slumber.
We have got to get control of ourselves, for heavens sake, and give the little beasties a slap.
I’ll share some of my strategies for slapping fear out of my head in the next post, but would you share some of yours in the comments? What does courage look like for you in those moments of choice, those moments when you could choose to believe a lie or step out on truth?